


Alone Together

by EmRosie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Draco, Coming Out, Drarry, Drarrython, Exile, Freedom, Good Draco Malfoy, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Secret love, Song Lyrics, Top Harry, Top!Harry, bottom!Draco, harry - Freeform, pining!Draco, romania - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmRosie/pseuds/EmRosie
Summary: Draco follows Harry Potter after his trial, intending to thank him for his freedom. Instead, he does something entirely different. “I don’t know where you’re going,” I began, with a knowing glance at the old, nondescript item in his fingertips. “But do you have room for one more troubled soul?” I don’t know what came over me in that moment. Was I really suggesting Potter take me with him, wherever he was going? Yes, I knew I didn’t want to return to the Manor, loathe was I was to leave my mother alone. I didn’t want to return to the memories, to the nightmares, to the pain. Inspired by Fall Out Boy "Alone Together." Draco's POV.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will compromise of several short chapters - it's inspired by Fall Out Boy's "Alone Together" and as such lines from the song appear throughout. However I own neither FOB or Harry Potter and claim no rights - this is just my story! Please enjoy and thank you for reading. The chapters will be posted as they are written. It's un-beat'ed so any mistakes are entirely my own. Sorry!

Apparently Harry Potter hadn’t spent a year on the run from (or, depending on which way one looked at the situation, toward) the Dark Lord without honing his senses of when he was being followed. He had said his goodbyes to the Weasley and a tearful Granger before their portkey whipped them away – to Australia, I was certain I’d overheard – before turning around to face me. 

“You can come out now, Malfoy.” He said. Startled, I stepped out of the alcove in which I’d been hiding like a naughty first year. I tried in vain to place the tone of his voice; it wasn’t terse as mine had been when he’d followed me in sixth year (although, indeed, he was quite right to be following me then), it wasn’t kind or warm – no surprises there, neither was it… any emotion of any kind. It was simply empty. 

The thought made me uncomfortable and then that thought in turn made me even more so – Malfoy’s didn’t worry about the emotional state of Harry Potter. I was all about to pull myself up haughtily by the shoulders when the courtroom proceedings from mere hours ago came flooding back to me with the remembrance of just where Malfoy pride had landed my father. 

My posture deflated again in a heartbeat.

Apparently I had been silent for too long, as Potter’s tone began to let on a tinge of annoyance as he spoke again. “Look, do you need anything?” He asked. 

Do I need anything? My mind helpfully repeated, although in an incredulous tone. Of course I needed something. I needed a hell of a lot. My father was sentenced to Azkaban, my mother on house arrest. Our vaults had been seized for reparations to “restore the wizarding world” so my mother would be left, locked away in our empty, cold hallways with the shadows of the Dark Lord and nothing she could do to remove them.

I was honestly beginning to believe my father had the better deal. 

But I, what did I need? A name that could be looked upon without disgust – not that I expected the grandeur of before, but indifference would be welcome. A wand. A warm bed in a safe home. A past that wasn’t haunted by ghosts of evil.

I needed a lot. A lot that I could scarcely ask Potter for; I had my freedom and that, after all, had already been his gift to me.

He had spoken passionately in mine and my mother’s defense, reducing her sentence to a year’s house arrest with his tales of how she had saved his life in the Forbidden Forrest and reduced mine to nothing at all with the combination of my saving his life in the Manor and my being underage when I was branded with the Dark Lord’s mark. 

I had come to thank him, for myself and my mother, although now I was here the words stuck in my throat. I opened and closed my lips a few times, gaping useless. My eyes caught sight of a glint of metal – an empty tin can, I deduced, as Potter twirled it in his fingers – before my apology finally escaped my lips.

Except that it wasn’t my apology at all. “I don’t know where you’re going,” I began, with a knowing glance at the old, nondescript item in his fingertips. “But do you have room for one more troubled soul?”

I don’t know what came over me in that moment. Was I really suggesting Potter take me with him, wherever he was going? Yes, I knew I didn’t want to return to the Manor, loathe was I was to leave my mother alone. I didn’t want to return to the memories, to the nightmares, to the pain. My mother didn’t expect me to, I know. Her eyes across the courtroom as my freedom was announced and a burly Auror clasped down on her delicate shoulder told me as much. Living under the Dark Lord had taught me a lot about communicating without words and my mother and I had communication down to a single glance. 

I was about to retract my inane question, mumble my way through the thanks I’d come to deliver – for that had been in my mother’s gaze too – and retreat to who knows where when Potter spoke up. “I don’t know where I’m going” He said in reply. “But I don’t think I’m coming home.” It wasn’t a brush off, his tone didn’t suggest dismissal, more warning. As crazy as it was, it seemed my heartbeat question had received an invitation. 

“I’ve nowhere to be.” I shrugged, taking a minute step toward Potter and what I suspected was his portkey. 

“Your mother?” He enquired with a single raised brow.

“She doesn’t expect me.” I replied, willing my voice not to waver as I thought of her. She was more than likely already back at the Manor, a prisoner in her own home once again. If, after the years of terror she’d lived through in it, she still felt it was such. I certainly know I don’t. “She…” I trailed off, but my eyes must have suggested her plight as Potter’s face relaxed into a softer, gentle – but not pitying – look. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for her.” He told me, and his tone and expression were so earnest I almost laughed aloud.

As I opened my lips to speak, a snort did escape me. “You needn’t be. I’m sure many believe we got much less than we deserve. Especially me.” 

Potter, I’m glad, didn’t soften his expression nor sugar-coat his response to me “I’m sure they do.” He replied, before offering out the tin can, confirming my suspicions with a single word. “Coming?”

I didn’t speak, simply stepped forward to close the remaining distance between us and touched by finger to the tin just as it began to glow and a lurching sensation in my stomach tugged us both away. 

We landed on the edge of a set of craggy rocks, secluded from life as far as I could see. In the distance I saw the tall, rocky peaks of a mountain range and nothing else – apart from vast expanses of land, trees and water.

“Where are we?” I asked, taking in my – or rather, our – surroundings as cool wind whipped at my cheeks. Years ago I would have huffed at the cold without an expensive, fur lined coat and a flask of the Manor’s elves finest hot chocolate. Now, however, the cold air against my cheeks felt like freedom in a way that only someone who, like I, had honestly believed by this point they would be dead or imprisoned could appreciate. 

“Romania.” Potter replied simply, taking off a rucksack I only just realised he’d been wearing and rummaging through its contents. 

“Romania?” I repeated, dumbstruck. Of all the places in the world – Potter had chosen Romania? Had Potter even chosen? Suddenly, my brain caught up with me. “Wait, Potter, I thought you said you didn’t know?” I accused, my eyes narrowing. 

“I didn’t know exactly.” He shrugged, pulling out what I knew to be a wizarding tent and laying it on an open space in the rocks. “Charlie helped me out, Ron’s brother. He knew I wanted to get away, he suggested a few places… Romania’s what he knows best. He lives out here, or he did before… Well.” Potter stopped, cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He gave me a choice of a few places, I said I didn’t want to know. So we’re in Romania, but, like I said, I don’t know where.” 

“And you thought this was a wise idea, why?” I couldn’t help but mocking. The words escaped me before I could stop them. Surely Potter wouldn’t take too kindly to being mocked when I’d asked to come with him, agreed to following him to an unknown location. What was more, he was armed with his wand and clearly prepared if the tent he’d pulled from the rucksack was anything to go by. I, on the other hand, had nothing. 

Surprisingly, Potter chuckled. “You sound just like Hermione.” He said, which unsettled me more than anything had that day. Sure, the war had lessened my prejudices to her… kind, the magic she’d performed was no doubt extraordinary if the stories were to be believed, but to be compared to her. 

At least I wasn’t on the receiving end of Potter’s wand for my comments, I comforted myself, as he began to mutter charms to erect the tent. 

“I just wanted to be alone, y’know?” He said once the tent stood proud and the shimmer of concealment charms encased us in a silver, shimmering bubble. Gaping in awe at the visible strength of Potter’s wards – his sheer magical power left the hairs on my arms standing up, leaving me helpless to hide the wonder on my face – I nodded. Then Potter’s words ‘I just wanted to be alone’ visited my mind again and my cheeks flushed scarlet before I could stop them – damn Potter’s magic and its effect on me. Surely this was my dismissal. He’d brought me along for the ride but I wasn’t wanted, wandless and unprepared in the middle of a foreign country. I turned away, stepping to take myself from the wards Potter had set when a warm, firm hand wrapped around my wrist. 

“Let’s be alone together.” Potter said and, despite myself, I lost myself in Potter’s power once again, nodding in agreement.


	2. 2

Chapter 2  
So that was how Potter and I ended up here, hidden away in the Bicaz Gorges of Romania, as we have been for the past month. The first day was a tense, silent affair. After Potter’s words as I tried to leave - “Let’s be alone together.” – had been spoken we had descended into silence, Potter taking up residence on a tall rock overlooking the land where he had stayed until the sky turned dark. He was deeply in thought, his face so troubled with lines it unsettled me. The war had scarred us all, I knew, and I think Potter is entitled to his fair share of demons. 

That evening I had hunted through the shelves in the tents kitchen finding them pleasantly well stocked and prepared a simple meal of soup for us both. Of course Malfoy’s had elves to do such plebeian tasks, however in my earliest years my mother had insisted I learn some basic skills of the house. At the time I’d scoffed and protested, whined at my father to be relieved from the task. But in that moment I’d have given anything for my mother’s hand to cover mine as a diced the carrots. Potter had not entered the tent as the soup was finished, so I placed his on the table – without my wand for a statis charm, there was little I could do to keep it well – and went to bed.

That first night sleep didn’t come to me, however, until I heard Potter slide into the tent, cast a warming charm over the bowl I’d left out, and scrape out a chair and begin to eat.

The next few days had followed in much the same affair. Potter would rise before dawn, take his seat on the rocks and remain outside until after sunset. Sometimes I would take in the air too – although I was careful to leave Potter to his solitude – yet I would always return before dark to prepare our meal for the day. We never ate together, but it was our meal all the same. 

On the fifth day an owl came. Potter and I were sat on separate rocks and as I saw it cross the horizon, I expected it to go to him. Mother would have no idea where to find me, of course, and no one else would wish to contact me even if they knew where to. I was, therefore, surprised when the owl dropped a note tied to a thin, long parcel in my lap. Potter looked alarmed, staring at the owl as if it carried the threat of a fully grown dragon.

“Who is it?” He had demanded, his tone harsh. It was rough form lack of use, yes, but also accusing. His eyes burned into the offending parcel in my lap as the owl took flight again. Apparently, whomever this was, they hadn’t expected a reply.

I had tugged the note from the parcel and read;

Mr D. Malfoy,

Enclosed is your wand 10 inches, Hawthorn, unicorn hair. The Ministry has inspected the wand and deemed it suitable to returned to you, its owner.

Melinda Cartwright,  
Wand Services,  
Ministry of Magic

I couldn’t believe the contents of the note until I tear open the brown paper with shaking fingers and my wand rolls out into my palm. Instantly it’s magic reels over me in warm, comforting waves. I command my quivering fingers to stop and wrap them numbly around the familiar wooden handle, grasping so tightly my knuckles turn white. By this point, curiosity – or anger – had gotten the better of Potter and he had descended from his rock to mine, reading the note over my shoulder. 

“I’d made sure Kingsley would get it returned to you,” he had said as he dropped down from a crouch to sit on the rock beside me. “How did they know where to find you?”

“Ministry owls are highly intelligent creatures. One only has to utter the name of the recipient and the owl will find its way.” I’d replied, blandly reciting information I’d learnt from my studies at some point as I focused on the feel of pure magic in my fingertips. 

“So they don’t know where you are.” Potter confirmed, and I had shook my head. I felt, rather than heard, his sigh of relief against the back of my neck; his words were unspoken – if they didn’t know where I was, they didn’t know where he was either. 

“I could have saved the poor bird a journey, if I’d known.” Potter had said, as he looked out over the horizon where, thanks to the blue, cloudless sky, a tiny fleck of brown could be seen still gliding away into the distance.

“I don’t even think a true seer could have predicted this one Potter.” I’d snorted almost friendlily, the thrill of my wands return to my hand sending my giddy. To my surprise, Potter had laughed a long with me, his face lighting with what had appeared his first genuine smile since we’d arrived. 

“True, Malfoy, true.”

From that day, we had settled into an easy routine. We no longer sat apart on the rocks, instead sitting together as we gazed out across the scenery. We didn’t spend our days in conversation, we merely were, exactly as Potter said we’d be, alone together. It was surprisingly comfortable. Each evening when I dipped back inside the tent to cook Potter would join me and, slowly but surely, our meals became more adventurous, as did our mealtime conversations.

“We should go out.” Potter had said, some point around our third we in the tent. “Y’know, explore.” 

“What, you mean, leave the wards?” I’d asked, my heart racing a little nervously. Our sanctuary was safe – I’d scarcely had a nightmare since we’d arrived and, when I did, waking in a cold sweat, the thrum of Potter’s innate magic and protective wards curled around me like a warm blanket, soothing me back to sleep. I’d not known if Potter was aware of this and, despite my curiosity, I’d never shamed myself to ask. But now, the thought of leaving the protection had my palms sweating uncomfortably… 

“Only for the day.” Potter had assured me, shrugging as he loaded his fork with the beef stew we’d accomplished that night. “See where we are. Look around. Get some more supplies. You could do with some clean clothes.” 

I looked down, my cheeks heating as I looked at the robes I stood in. They were my best, of course, the ones I’d warn to my trial in an attempt to… To what? Now, I couldn’t even recall. Had I wanted to look innocent, so they’d let me free? No, I hadn’t. Had I wanted to look haughty, superior in my finest, most expensive robes, so I could look down on them when they sentenced me to the same fate as my father and every other marked man and woman before me? Probably, I couldn’t recall. I wasn’t that person anymore. 

Strange, how a few weeks with Potter had so easily changed me. 

Still, the robes didn’t smell – as fine as they were, an automatic laundering charm was laced into their very fabric and each night when they were hung their folds were cleaned and pressed into perfection. 

“I haven’t any money.” I’d mumbled. I thought of father in that moment and how, if he could see me now, he’d turn away in disgust. 

“I’ve plenty.” Potter had insisted, yet I still refused to look up. I heard Potter’s chair shift out, a few light steps and then felt a warm hand on my shoulder. “We’re surrounded by muggles, Draco. I made sure Charlie would send me somewhere I wouldn’t be recognised if I wanted to venture out. No-one will know who you are.”

I still don’t know what it was, his warm hand, reassuring tone or the use of my given name – although I strongly suspect it was the latter – that made my eyes raise to meet his, but something did. That something dragged more from me, a nod and a whispered. “Okay.”

That was how we had discovered where we were. Hidden on the outskirts of a Muggle national park called the Bicaz Gorges. As we explored it and the small, quaint town around it I’d been struck by it’s simple beauty. It had tranquil lakes where muggles sat with peculiar rods, (they’re fishing, Potter had explained, at my confused look) and a, a short walk more, a small area of stores offering basic supplies. Their clothing selection was limited, but it was enough to allow me a change of clothing or two. For the walk I’d had to wear a selection of Potters clothes – although, unlike him, I’d had the good sense to cast a proper tailoring charm so they fit me correctly. Potter had bought food to stock our cupboards and a map of the area. He also purchased two of the strange sticks the muggles we’d seen – what was it Potter had said, fishing? – had. We returned to our tent, once we were safely back inside the wards, Potter had turned to me with a smile.

“Tomorrow,” he had begun with a smile “We’re going fishing.”

Despite myself I had smiled in return, and agreed.


End file.
